


Peel Away the Bark

by semperama



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Adoption, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-04-01 19:24:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4031725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/semperama/pseuds/semperama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zach is tired of being alone. Chris shows him that he's not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peel Away the Bark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [babykid528](https://archiveofourown.org/users/babykid528/gifts).



> This fic is a birthday present for my dear Mystic. <3 If anyone is wondering why I would write such a sad thing for someone's birthday, it's because she asked for it, I promise. I'm not a horrible sadist. Well, maybe a little. ;)
> 
> Thank you to my lovely Jupiter for making sure this is coherent and for encouraging me along the way.

Zach doesn’t realize he dialed Chris’s number until he hears his voice on the other end of the line.

“Hey, man!” Chris sounds bright as California sunshine. Zach’s eyes burn, his throat burns. He is still standing on the sidewalk outside the adoption agency, but everything looks blurry and distorted.

“Hey,” he croaks. His voice doesn’t even sound like it belongs to him.

There is a five second pause. Zach knows because he counts them. “Zach, is everything alright?”

“No.” He swallows hard, then swallows again. “No, Chris, I…”

He can’t finish the sentence. His vision is swimming, and he feels like he’s going to to be sick. All he can think about is getting off the street before someone sees him lose it, but he can’t seem to make his feet move. Where is he going to go anyway? Back home? To the apartment he bought because it was big enough for a family to grow into? 

“Zach?” Chris says. “Are you still there? Zach?”

“Chris, she...she changed her mind.”

There is another pause. This one is longer. Zach watches three cabs roll by and wonders why the world hasn’t come to a standstill. _His_ world certainly has.

“Shit,” Chris breathes in his ear. “You had the appointment at the agency today. I forgot. Wait, what does that mean, she changed her mind? Wasn’t the C-section scheduled for next month? Isn’t it too late for that?”

Chris doesn’t mean anything by it, but his words are a series of knives to Zach’s gut. Just a few more weeks and he was going to be taking his baby girl home with him. Her name—Olivia—is stenciled in her nursery, over her crib. The crib she won’t be sleeping in.

“It’s not too late,” Zach says. “She could change her mind at any time. I knew that going into it, but the agency told me it was really rare. They get psych evals and everything, to make sure it’s not going to happen. They...it was supposed to be…”

He cuts himself off, because he can hear himself getting hysterical, his voice rising in pitch. There is a couple walking down the sidewalk toward him—a curly-haired man and a waiflike blonde woman. She is laughing at something, gesturing with her hands. Zach turns away, toward the building, so they can’t see his face, and pulls the brim of his hat down a little, then swipes at his cheeks. His hand comes away wet.

Chris is muttering a string of expletives into Zach’s ear. Zach waits, holding his breath, hoping that he’s going to come up with some magic word that will undo everything, put things back the way they are supposed to be. If anyone can do it, Chris can.

“Who’s there in New York right now?” Chris asks at last. “Joe? Sarah? Neil or Corey?”

Zach actually has to think for a moment. There’s nothing like a personal tragedy to make you realize how few _close_ friends you actually have, and many of the ones that Zach wouldn’t mind having around right now are the showbiz types who may or may not be around at any given moment. 

“I think Celia’s in town,” he says at last. They met for drinks last week. Zach had spent the whole time talking about the baby.

“Alright, I’m going to give her a call.”

“No, I can—”

“No, Zachary, _I_ am going to give her a call, and _you_ are going to go home and wait for her to get there. Okay?”

“Chris—”

“Say okay.”

Zach tries to sigh wearily, but there is a pathetic hitch in it. He sniffles and swipes at his nose. “Okay.”

“Good,” says Chris. “I’ll be in touch. Hang in there.”

As soon as the line goes dead, Zach takes his sunglasses out of the neckline of his t-shirt and pushes them onto his face. He turns away from the building and stands still for a moment, watching the people walk by on the sidewalk across the street—businesspeople headed to business lunches where they will have vapid conversations over midday cocktails and congratulate themselves for being on top of the world. He thinks about the bubble they all live in, the same bubble that Zach himself lives in most of the time. There is no reality here.

Reality is an empty crib. Reality is the great, cavernous hole in his chest.

He pulls the brim of his cap down even lower, walks to the curb, and hails a cab. He doesn’t trust his legs will take him all the way home right now.

————

Celia finds him, almost an hour later, sitting on the floor of the nursery with a blue stuffed bunny clutched to his chest. She sits down next to him and lays her head on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Zach,” she says. Her fingers pick at the seam of his jeans. He looks down at her hand with a weird sort of detachment—he sees it but doesn’t see it, feels it but doesn’t feel it. This is where he is supposed to say something, right? ‘I’ll be okay’ or ‘Thanks for coming’. The thought of opening his mouth to speak is terrifying though. If he doesn’t keep his lips pressed tight together, all the grief he’s trying to hold back might come spilling past them.

Luckily Celia doesn’t press him. She wraps her arm around his shoulders and leans more heavily against him. “I’m going to ask you some yes or no questions, and you just nod or shake your head, okay?”

Zach swallows hard and nods. He fixes his eyes on a random spot on the rug.

“Have you eaten yet today?”

He nods. He had breakfast before his appointment at the agency—an egg bagel and a soy latte. Just thinking about it makes his stomach roll. 

“Have you called your mother or brother?”

He shakes his head.

“Do you want me to call them?”

He shakes his head again, then presses a hand to his mouth, a reinforcement against the sob that threatens to force its way past his clenched teeth. He has been trying not to think about his mother. She has been looking forward to grandkids for as long as he can remember, and Zach is pretty sure she was more excited about the baby than he was. It took a lot of begging to get her to wait to book her flight so Zach could have some one-on-one bonding time with his daughter. Now she won’t have to come at all. Or worse, she’ll insist on coming so she can take care of him. He doesn’t want that. Doesn’t think he could stand it. The longer he can put of telling her, the better.

“Do you want me to take the dogs for a few days?”

Zach’s first instinct is to be indignant. He _needs_ his fur babies right now—the only babies he may ever have. But just as he starts to pull away from her, Celia tightens her hold on him and lifts her head to look at him. He doesn’t turn his head to meet her eyes.

“You’re probably not going to feel like getting out of bed for a while, honey. I know you probably want them with you, but maybe it would be good for you to have a few less things to worry about until you’ve had some time to mourn.”

“Okay.” It’s more of a wheeze than a word, but Zach counts it as a victory that he managed to speak at all. He tilts his head until it’s resting against Celia’s, then lets out a shuddery little sigh. “Okay. You can take them.”

“Alright,” she murmurs. “Last question then. Do you want me to stay?”

His reaction is immediate and intense. He grabs her hand and holds it tight, as if she is about to run away and he is desperate to keep her there. If Celia leaves, then he’ll really be alone— _alone_ alone, for good. 

“Please stay,” he begs. 

“Okay, Zach, it’s okay.” She lifts her hand to the back of his head, strokes his hair and shushes him. “I’ll stay as long as you want. Don’t worry. I won’t leave until you want me to.”

Celia gently extracts her hand from Zach’s death grip, but only so she can thread their fingers together. Zach is still clutching the blue bunny in his other arm, and he pulls it tighter to his body, and squeezes his eyes shut, hoping he can block everything out, at least for a little while. He concentrates on breathing in and out, and when that doesn’t work, he concentrates on Celia’s breathing, on the way her arm shifts against his with each rise and fall of her chest.

“This too shall pass, Zachary,” she says quietly, giving his shoulders a squeeze.

Zach wishes he could believe her.

————

Chris crawls into bed with him at 3:15 a.m. Zach knows the exact time, because he hasn’t been sleeping at all, just tossing and turning and opening his eyes every few minutes to see how much the numbers of his alarm clock have moved. He has resigned himself to the fact that sleep isn’t going to come. Maybe not ever again. At first, he isn’t sure Chris is real and not just a product of his beleaguered mind, a hallucination born of wishful thinking.

“You’re here,” he whispers. Saying it out loud doesn’t make it seem any more true.

“Took the redeye,” Chris says as he lays his head down on the pillow next to Zach’s. He doesn’t reach out for him though. Zach wishes he would.

“You didn’t have to come.” 

“Yeah, I did,” Chris murmurs.

Zach is too exhausted and too grateful to argue with that. He closes his eyes for a moment, then opens them again, just to confirm Chris is still there. And he is. He smells like coffee and cigarettes and airplane. His jaw is bristly with a few days of growth, and his t-shirt is warped around the neckline like always. Zach itches to touch him, but he isn’t sure he’s allowed, so he tucks his hands under his pillow and clenches them into fists.

“How are you holding up?” Chris asks.

It’s such an innocuous question—exactly the kind of question Zach should have been expecting and prepared for—and yet panic closes its fingers around his lungs. He can feel that bubble of grief again, and this time he doesn’t think he is going to be able to hold it back. And then Chris reaches out and clutches Zach’s bicep, and that’s it. That’s all it takes. One moment he’s composed, and the next moment he is split wide open, his anguish gushing out like blood from a punctured artery.

Chris pulls him in, and he goes willingly, muffling his sobs against his chest. He can feel Chris’s fingers stroking his hair and the back of his neck. The touches are tender but firm, not tentative like Zach might expect. It isn’t the first time they have been in bed together, and it isn’t the first time he has felt Chris’s arms around him, but it’s been years. And the last time was under very different circumstances, before time and distance and other people got in between them. Chris touches him now like he has every right to, though. He touches him like it’s his job—and no one else’s—to comfort Zach. 

Zach is helpless to do anything but give into it. He curls his fingers into Chris’s thin t-shirt and buries his face in it and cries until it is soaked with his tears. His body heaves with great, wracking sobs, until his throat is sore and he’s not sure he can draw another breath. 

“It’s okay, Zach.” Chris’s voice sounds thick, like he’s trying to hold back some emotion himself. His arm tighten around Zach’s shoulders. “It’s okay. You’re not alone, alright? You’re not alone in this.”

Zach has no fucking clue how Chris knows exactly what he needed to hear, but he doesn’t think he has ever loved someone more than he loves him in this moment. Even as despair batters him from all directions, he feels a little safer in Chris’s arms, a little less like this is going to drag him under for good.

He doesn’t know how long he cries into Chris’s chest, but when he stops, it’s not by choice. It’s exhaustion that dries his tears and stops the shaking of his shoulders. His breathing is still loud and ragged, but at least for now, he seems to be all cried out. The sharpness of his pain has temporarily subsided, leaving numbness in its wake.

“You should try to get some sleep,” Chris says. He has made no move to release Zach, and Zach is glad for it. At least this way he has an excuse to keep clinging to him. In the morning, he’ll probably be embarrassed about it, but right now he doesn’t think he could push away from Chris if he tried.

He clutches Chris’s shirt a little tighter, and Chris immediately catches on. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

Zach sighs and lets his fingers relax. He wants to says something—to thank Chris or to apologize for being such a mess—but the thought of speaking is too daunting. Instead, he turns his head a little bit, until he can hear Chris’s heartbeat beneath his ear.

With that strong and steady beat calming him, and with the knowledge that Chris will be here with him all night, Zach finally lets himself succumb to sleep.

————

Chris lied. He is nowhere to be found when Zach opens his eyes. But when Zach looks at the clock and sees that it’s almost one in the afternoon, he guesses he can’t blame Chris for not laying there and watching him sleep the day away. The TV is going in the other room and there is water running in the kitchen, so it’s obvious Chris didn’t go far. That, at least, is comforting.

Zach’s mouth is dry and tastes like ash, so he puts off going to seek Chris out and stumbles to the bathroom to brush his teeth. The first glance in the mirror makes him groan. He looks like death—his skin sallow, his eyes rimmed in shadows, his expression disarmingly vacant. His hair is oily from going a couple days without a wash, and it hangs limply around his face, refusing to be pushed back into some semblance of order. Zach lets the water run cold in the sink and then splashes some of it on his face, trying to get some color and life back. It helps a little, but not enough. And maybe it’s best that he looks like a ghost. He certainly feels like one.

After his teeth are brushed, Zach pulls a sweater on and walks down the hall and into the main living area. He hovers there for a moment, shifting from foot to foot, trying to decide what to do. Chris is standing in the kitchen, his back to Zach, washing a pan. Zach hasn’t been leaving any dirty dishes around—Zoe accused him of nesting when she visited his spotless apartment a couple weeks ago with the twins—so he guesses that Chris probably made himself lunch and is now cleaning up. 

He clears his throat.

Chris turns around immediately, dripping soapy water on the floor in his haste. He snatches a dish towel off the counter and takes a few steps closer while he dries his hands. Zach stands his ground, as much as he wants to stumble forward and accept the comfort of his arms again. He’s embarrassed about last night as it is. One look at the ridiculous rat’s nest on Chris’s head that he calls hair and the stretched fabric of his t-shirt makes the blood rush to Zach’s face. Were some of those wrinkles left by his fingers? It’s difficult to tell. It’s difficult not to imagine that they are.

“Hey, Sleeping Beauty,” Chris says with a cautious smile. “Sorry, I didn’t want to wake you. I made taco salad for lunch. Just put the leftovers in the fridge. You want me to fix you a plate?”

Zach shakes his head immediately. “Nah, I don’t...have much of an appetite.”

Chris nods, understanding, but the smile disappears from his face. This is the part where it’s going to get awkward—Zach can tell. Normally he would rush to fill the silence before it can happen, but he doesn’t have it in him at the moment, and Chris doesn’t have it in him on the best of days, so it looks like they are headed for an uncomfortable standoff. 

But Chris surprises him. He turns to throw the towel on the island behind him and then crosses the room to Zach, lifting his hands to his shoulders and giving them a comforting squeeze. “Come on. Let’s sit.”

Zach lets himself be guided over to the couch. Chris picks up the remote and turns off the TV, then sits down next to him. 

At first, Zach waits for Chris to speak, but after a few seconds of silence, he realizes that Chris is waiting him out. His first instinct is to be annoyed, but he realizes that’s just a defense mechanism. He feels like a lost child, and it’s disconcerting. A few slow breaths do nothing to calm him, and he tugs the sleeves of his sweater down over his hands, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth, looking everywhere but at Chris’s face. How is he supposed to talk about it without breaking down again?

But he _wants_ to talk about it, he realizes. He wants to talk about it—he just doesn’t want to get emotional doing it.

“Just don’t interrupt me until I get it all out, okay?” Zach says at last, lifting his gaze to Chris’s face and then quickly looking away again. “I’ll lose it if you don’t let me just…”

“Okay,” Chris says. Zach can see him nod out of the corner of his eye. “I can be quiet. It’s one of my specialties.”

Normally a comment like that would make Zach smile, but this time his lips barely twitch. He looks down at his own knees, takes one more deep breath, and then forces himself to start talking.

“I don’t want to be...insensitive about it, but I keep wondering if this is what a miscarriage feels like. Maybe it’s not...exactly the same, but I was...I feel like my baby died. Because she _was_ mine. She was supposed to be. And I know she isn’t actually dead, and maybe she is going to be better off with her actual mom, I don’t know. But it feels like I lost her.”

He glances at Chris again, but Chris isn’t looking at him. He is staring at the floor, like he is trying to give Zach space. There is a thoughtful frown on his face, but he doesn’t take Zach’s pause as an opportunity to talk. Zach sighs and looks away again.

“It’s just not fucking fair. It shouldn’t be this hard. I’m going to be forty _next year_ , and look at me. I’m so… _alone_. For so long I didn’t even think I wanted kids. I thought the work gave me all the fulfillment I needed. But once I decided to do it, I realized how much I wanted it. A family. I just...I don’t know what…”

Zach trails off, lowering his head into his hands and breathing slow, trying to stave off another bout of hysterics. There is the slightest pressure on his back—Chris’s palm resting on his shoulder blade, tentatively, as if he expects Zach to shrug it off. Zach has no desire to shrug it off, though. He leans into it, leans closer to Chris, and Chris gets the hint and moves his hand up to the back of Zach’s neck to drag him in, until he’s resting against his chest.

“What am I doing wrong?” Zach asks. His eyes feel hot. He knows the tears are about to come again, but he is desperate to keep them at bay for as long as he can. “What am I putting out into the universe that is so toxic? I mean, fuck. My dad. Leonard. Let’s not even _talk_ about the slew of relationships that ended in disaster. And now this. Am I just _supposed_ to be alone? Should I just go off in the fucking woods somewhere and—”

He cuts himself off with a jagged breath and turns his face into Chris’s shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut against the first few tears that are threatening to spill over. Chris is still gripping the back of his neck, hard enough that it almost hurts, but Zach doesn’t want it to stop. It is a solid reminder that at least someone is here. _Chris_ is here. And Chris has always been here. He was there after Jon, after Miles. He was stuck to Zach’s side like a shadow at Leonard’s funeral. They haven’t even been living in the same state for going on a decade now, and yet Chris has always been there when he needed him. Maybe that’s why he wasn’t all that surprised to see Chris last night. He just expects it by now.

“Can I talk now?” Chris says, breaking through Zach’s inner monologue. Zach sniffs and nods. He thinks he has bared his soul enough.

“Okay, can you look at me?” Chris moves his hand to Zach’s chin and gently tugs him upright. Zach is self-conscious, wants to look away to hide his tears, but Chris holds him steady, forcing him to look him in the eye. “Zach, you haven’t done anything wrong. Life dealt you a shitty hand, and I have no idea why, because you’re the last person that deserves it. Sometimes things don’t work thing out. Sometimes bad things happen. That’s life. But it’s not your fault.”

Zach knows that intellectually—really he does. He doesn’t really believe that good deeds lead to good things and bad deeds to bad things. It’s impossible to look at the state of the world and think that anything resembling fairness exists. Still, it’s unsettling to feel like he doesn’t have control over his life, so his fragile psyche has been searching for answers in odd places. Maybe if he had just tried harder. Maybe if he hadn’t screwed things up with one of his past boyfriends, or maybe if, just once, he had put a relationship before a career, things would be different. Maybe if he was still with someone, the adoption process would have been easier, and he would have been a father sooner. 

Chris’s blue-eyed sincerity is hard to argue with, though. He is looking into Zach’s eyes with such intensity that Zach thinks he’s going to make him believe by sheer force of will. 

Zach blinks rapidly, trying and failing to stop another tear from sneaking out. The moment it slips onto his cheek, Chris reaches up and brushes it away with one knuckle. It’s too tender, almost romantic, and Zach has to shut his eyes for a second to collect himself.

“You’re right. I know. You’re right.” He opens his eyes again, but he has to focus on the bridge of Chris’s nose. “I just...if I admit it’s not my fault, then that means there’s nothing I can do to fix it.”

“You can’t fix it,” Chris says carefully, like Zach is a cornered animal he’s trying not to spook. “It is what it is, in this case. The baby...Olivia is not coming to stay with you, Zach. She’s not, but another baby might. You just have to—”

Zach wrenches his chin from Chris’s fingers and shoots to his feet, jaw clenching, hands squeezing into angry fists. “Don’t you dare suggest that I try again.” 

Chris looks bewildered. It’s almost enough to make Zach feel guilty. Almost. But the truth is, the thought of ever trying again makes him want to crawl back in bed and never leave. How could he ever go through this again? What if it doesn’t work out a second time? Zach doesn’t know if he can handle it. He’s not that strong. He’s still not sure if he’s going to recover from _this_ time.

“Okay,” Chris says, holding up his hands in surrender. “Okay, fair. It’s too soon to talk about that.”

“It will _always_ be too soon to talk about that, Chris,” Zach snaps. He swipes angrily at his cheeks, wiping away the lingering tears. “I don’t want to hear you mention it again.”

Chris’s kicked puppy never fails to be completely heart-wrenching, but Zach doesn’t feel like he has much of a heart to wrench right now. He crosses his arms over his chest and stares Chris down until he is forced to nod.

“Fine. You won’t hear another peep out of me.”

“Good.”

They watch each other for a long moment, and then Zach looks away again and down at the floor. He doesn’t know what to say now, or what to do. The silence stretches out until it’s almost unbearable, until Zach wants to run back down the hall and shut himself away in the bedroom. Finally, Chris heaves a great sigh and stands up so he is face-to-face with Zach again.

“I’m sorry, man,” he says. “I’m here to help. I just want to help.”

Zach gives him a jerky nod. “You...you are helping.”

Chris’s shoulders slump with relief, like he honestly had no idea. Maybe he doesn’t know how much better Zach feels in his presence or how much he appreciates his friendship. Zach doesn’t have the right words to say any of that now though, so he just sways forward, hunching his back so he can tuck his head under Chris’s chin. Chris’s arms come up around his shoulders automatically.

“You are helping,” Zach repeats. “You make me feel...not alone.”

Chris swallows hard and is silent for a moment, then pushes his face into Zach’s hair. 

“You’re not alone,” he says, so quietly that Zach almost doesn’t hear him. “You won’t ever be alone.”

Zach closes his eyes and pretends that’s the truth.

————

The second night, Chris stays in the spare room instead. Zach tosses and turns until three in the morning, but he doesn’t dare get up and walk down the hall. He knows that if he gets used to having Chris in his bed, things will never go back to normal for him. It’s already hard enough to believe there is such a thing as normal anymore.

He sleeps until the afternoon every day for the first week, but Chris never scolds him for it. He does scold him for not eating though, so after the first day he dutifully chokes down two square meals per day, even though the food has no taste and always sits heavy and uncomfortable in his stomach. Chris cooks it, so the least Zach can do is eat it.

Tears seem to come at random times. The nursery door has stayed shut since Chris arrived, but sometimes just walking past it is enough to set Zach off. He cries in the shower. He sniffles himself to sleep more often than not. He tries to hide his emotion from Chris as much as he can, because he feels oddly ashamed of it. Even though he knows he has a right to grieve, he can’t help but feel like he should have it more together than this, like he should be strong enough to shrug it off and move on. She was not his yet, not really. Can you lose something you never had?

The few times he does let himself cry in front of Chris, he is treated to warm hugs and murmured encouragements. Chris doesn’t seem to tire of taking care of him. In fact, he takes to it like it’s the natural order of things. He hums while he cooks, he keeps the apartment as spotless as it was the fateful morning of the trip to the adoption agency, and he anticipates Zach’s needs before he even knows them himself. Zach is about to run out of his favorite brand of tea, but he opens the pantry one afternoon to find it restocked. In the evenings, when they are curled up in front of the TV, Chris sits close enough that Zach can lean into him if he wants or stay in his own space if he wants. He seems to be able to guess when Zach’s mind is going down a dark path and distracts him with conversation or a movie.

It’s Chris who goes and picks up the dogs from Celia. It’s Chris who walks them in the morning, and, more often than not, in the evening too. It’s like he is a guardian angel sent to give Zach as much time and space to heal as he needs. Zach almost wants to resent him for it, for being so perfect and put together when he himself is falling apart, but he doesn’t have the energy. 

Finally, after a week, Chris comes to him where he is curled up on the couch in the living room and clears his throat nervously. 

“How would you feel about me repainting the nursery?” he asks when Zach looks up at him.

It takes Zach off guard. He has been trying to pretend he doesn’t know what’s inside that room. His heart knows that it’s bad, that he should stay out of it, but until now he had forgotten the perfect white crib, the name stenciled above it, the shelves full of stuffed animals, the soft striped baby blankets.

“Chris…”

“Or we could do it together. It..might be good to do it together.” Chris looks at his feet. Zach stares at him and waits for the rage to well up inside him. It doesn’t come though. Maybe he’s too tired for rage. Or maybe he knows Chris is right, that it needs to be done.

“Okay,” he says, then looks away. He doesn’t want to see the expression on Chris’s face, doesn’t want to know if he’s shocked at Zach’s agreement. “The walls are lilac. I want them to stay that color. The sample is sitting on top of the ch—” 

Zach stops and swallows hard around the catch in his throat. The sound of footsteps means Chris is walking closer, and then his hand falls on Zach’s shoulder. Zach leans his head against his arm but doesn’t look up at him.

“The sample is sitting on top of the changing table,” he says, his voice thick. Chris doesn’t move right away, though. He squeezes Zach’s shoulder, and Zach closes his eyes and carefully clears his mind, focusing only on the point of contact between his forehead and Chris’s arm. He doesn’t know how many minutes tick by, but it feels like a long time before Chris finally gives his shoulder one more squeeze and then withdraws his hand. 

Zach doesn’t watch him walk out of the room, but he listens as his footsteps travel down the hall into the nursery, then into the spare room, then to the front door. The door opens and closes. Zach scrubs his hands over his eyes, looks up at the ceiling, and thinks about letting go..

————

They wait two more days before carrying two new paint cans into the nursery. Chris walks into the room after him, hand gripping the back of his neck, and it takes all of Zach’s willpower not to stop in the doorway and lean into him.

The room is just as he left it, of course. Blue Bunny is sitting in one corner of the crib. The row of stuffed animals staring at him from the shelf seems sad somehow, despite the cheery pastel colors. Zach tears his gaze away and focuses on the floor for a moment, waiting for the tidal wave of emotion to subside.

“You okay?” Chris asks. He moves his hand to the small of Zach’s back. “We don’t have to do this today.”

“No...no, we should.” If he keeps putting it off, he’ll put it off forever. And he doesn’t know how long Chris is planning to stay, and doesn’t think he could do it without him here.

“Alright.” Chris drops his hand and sets the paint can down, and then walks over to the crib. “Help me move this?”

Together they carry the crib over to the opposite wall. Chris disappears for a moment to get a step stool and the paint trays, and then they set about opening the cans and spreading out the drop cloths. Zach tries not to think about any of it too hard. He watches as the pearlescent lilac paint as it fills the nooks and crannies of the paint tray, then takes the paint roller Chris hands to him. He rolls it back and forth across the tray to coat it and gets to work.

He and Chris start at opposite ends of the wall. They work mostly in silence, though every now and again Chris makes a half-hearted attempt at conversation. Zach actually prefers the silence. When they aren’t speaking, he can disengage his brain and focus on the motion of his hand, watching as the wall is covered in thick stripes of fresh paint. He is lulled by the soft, sticky _hush_ sound of the rollers rolling across the textured drywall. The strong chemical smell of the paint starts to cover up the baby smell—talcum powder and fresh cotton—that pervades the room. Zach lets himself dissociate from what they are doing, what this really means, and what he is letting go of.

Until they get to the middle of the room—the “Olivia” in big block letters, stenciled in robin’s egg blue.

“Do you want me to do it?” Chris asks, startling Zach. He hadn’t realized Chris was standing right as his elbow again. There are purple splotches on this t-shirt and even one on the side of his neck somehow. Zach focuses on that spot instead of looking him in the eye.

“Together?” he asks.

“Sure. Of course.”

It doesn’t take more than five minutes to cover up the letters, but by the time they are done, Zach is shaking. The moment the last bit of blue is covered up, he drops the roller, splattering his shoe and the bottom of his jeans in the process. Chris is right there, pulling him into his arms before his knees can give out. 

He collapses against him, but Chris holds his weight easily. Zach tucks his nose into his neck and inhales paint and sweat and, underneath, the distinctly Chris smell that has become so familiar to him lately, with all the time he has spent wrapped up in his arms.

“You did so well, Zach,” Chris says. “You’re so strong.”

Zach doesn’t feel strong. He feels threadbare, on the verge of unraveling completely. He feels like Chris is the only thing holding him together. 

“Chris—” he starts, but he doesn’t know how to finish. 

“Shh,” Chris says, sensing his distress. He turns his head and presses a kiss to Zach’s temple, his hair, the curve of his ear. Zach can’t seem to pull air into his lungs anymore, and his mind has turned into a mess of knots in sea of white noise. He clings to Chris, digging his fingernails into the back of his neck until Chris grunts in his ear and holds him even tighter.

Somehow, their mouths find each other. By the time Zach notices they are kissing, he has a feeling they have been doing it for a while, possibly a long while. Chris is suddenly the only thing in the world, blocking every other thought out of Zach’s mind and overwhelming the gnawing emptiness in his chest. Zach is desperate for more of him, every single scrap of him. He gasps into his mouth, claws at the back of his neck, pulls and tugs until they are both off-balance and go careening into the freshly painted wall.

“Zach,” Chris groans, but Zach kisses him hard before he can say anymore. Chris’s hand sneaks up under the back of his t-shirt and splays across the skin of his back, and Zach thinks he could cry from the sheer intensity of skin-on-skin contact. 

A moment later, Chris breaks the kiss again, tries to speak again. “Zach, I don’t know if—”

“God, please,” Zach hisses. He doesn’t want to hear all the reasons they shouldn’t do this. He doesn’t want to deal with Chris’s stupid sense of chivalry or his thoughts on right and wrong. It’s painfully obvious what he’s thinking. That Zach isn’t in his right mind. And he fucking _isn’t_ , but who cares? All Zach cares about is that this burning need is the first strong emotion he has felt in over a week that isn’t despair. He wants to hold onto it.

“Please, Chris,” he repeats. “I need...”

Chris frames his face with his hands and kisses him silent, his mouth somehow gentle and searing at the same time. Zach opens up to it and lets himself be swept away.

One of Chris’s sleeves and the whole back of Zach’s shirt are covered in paint, but neither of them seems to care as they sink to the floor. Zach ends up flat on the rug, Chris hovering over him with his hands splayed out across his torso like he’s trying to touch as much of him as possible. If only he could touch him everywhere at once, because it isn’t nearly enough. Zach arches into it and shuts his eyes against the thunderstruck expression on Chris’s face. His heart is going to crack wide open if he thinks too much about the feelings that might be involved here, on either of their ends.

Chris leans in and kisses him again, slow and thorough this time, like he wants to memorize Zach’s mouth. Zach feels like he is shaking from head to toe, and he clings hard to Chris to try to stop it. 

“Zach,” Chris says, murmuring against Zach’s cheekbone. “Honey, I need to know what you need.”

“You,” Zach chokes out. “You, you, please, just you.”

Chris kisses him again—and again and again, until Zach is less scared that this is going to end, until the fire inside him burns hotter than ever.

“Not here,” Chris says at least. And he’s right. When Zach opens his eyes and see lilac, his head swims, and he has to squeeze them shut again. The room tilts as Chris tugs him to his feet and pulls him back into his arms, kissing his face, his neck.

They manage to make it down the hall without letting go of each other for long, shedding clothes as they go. Zach feels like every inch of him is oversensitized, and even the lightest of touches from Chris is almost painful. He aches. He pines. He needs Chris to put out the fire in him before he burns to ash.

“Need you,” Zach gasps as Chris gently pushes him down on the mattress and settles on top of him. He thrusts up, rubbing his erection against Chris’s hip. “Need you, please.”

Zach has never begged this much in his life. Normally he’s the one being begged, the one in control. Normally he is in control of _everything_ , his whole life carefully constructed, every action deliberate and choreographed. But not this. He is undone now, completely out of his mind. Every bit of his broken heart is on display, and Chris is looking right at it, staring right through all of his defenses. 

“Zach, shh,” Chris hushes. “I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”

It’s strange, if Zach thinks about it. Chris has always seemed like such a disaster to him. He is haphazard in everything he does—the way he dresses, the way he speaks. Even when he is being careful, in front of the press or cameras, there is an undercurrent of unpredictability, a sense that at any moment he could go off in the weeds. But Zach realizes now that unpredictable doesn’t mean irresponsible. Spontaneous does not mean uncontrolled. Chris is looking at him like something precious and delicate that he wouldn’t dare mishandle in any way. 

Zach isn’t sure, in this moment, if he has ever come close to trusting someone as much as he trusts Chris.

“I want you,” he says with finality. He can’t remember the last time he had someone inside him—it has to have been years—but he wants it now.

Chris’s eyebrows go up, and he runs a hand up Zach’s thigh, then hooks it under his knee and pushes it back toward his chest. “You want me to…?”

Zach sucks in a sharp breath and nods. He reaches behind his head without looking and roots around in the drawer of the nightstand until he finds lube and condoms, then holds them out to Chris like an offering. Chris takes them and leans in for another kiss, trying to make it slow and sweet, like he is showing his gratitude, but Zach can’t bear it, not with the great, hungry black hole that has opened up inside his chest. He pushes his tongue past Chris’s teeth and grinds up against him again, making them both groan.

That seems to finally light a fire under Chris. Zach hears the click of the lube cap, and then a slick finger finds his hole and, after a nod of encouragement, pushes inside.

It’s just what Zach needs. Exactly what he needs. He bears down and grits his teeth against the burn and watches Chris’s face, the lines of concentration on his forehead and the thoughtful pout of his mouth. He’s so gorgeous—too gorgeous for words—and for the first time in days, Zach’s heart clenches with something other than grief. 

When Chris adds another finger, Zach gasps for air and clutches at his forearm, urging him on. Though he thinks he would prefer it if Chris were rough with him, Chris remains as careful as he is unrelenting. He keeps Zach right on the edge of too much and not enough, never hurting him but never backing off enough to let him catch his breath. 

Just before Zach is about to beg again, Chris withdraws his fingers and reaches for the condom. It seems like it takes ages for him to get it open and roll it on, and Zach distracts himself by running his fingers over Chris’s skin—the paint splotches on his neck and his bicep, the smattering of hair on his chest. He tweaks one pink nipple and watches as Chris’s neck chords up, his teeth clenching but failing to keep back the rumble of a moan. And then finally, finally, Chris is lining himself up and pushing inside.

Zach can’t keep back the embarrassing half-sob of relief that wrenches its way out of his throat the moment Chris breeches him. It’s perfect. It’s everything. Chris pushes inside and pushes every thought out of his head at the same time. He pulls Chris down for an inelegant kiss, and tilts his hips up to get him deeper. Chris breathes out hard against his cheek when he bottoms out. He rests their foreheads together and their eyes meet, and Zach feels like he is drowning—he can't breathe, but it's blissful, peaceful, like he can see the light at the end of the tunnel.

Chris is the most exquisite creature Zach has ever seen, and he doesn't know how he hasn't seen it before—not like this anyway. The way his biceps bunch as he pushes himself up a little, giving himself the leverage to fuck into Zach with long, languid rolls of his hips. His face and chest are flushed, and there is a shimmer of sweat on the side of his neck that Zach wants to lick off—so he pulls him down and does it, ending with a bite to his earlobe that pulls the most beautiful whine from his lips. 

Chris feels so good inside him, thick and so fucking hard and hitting that perfect angle more often than not. He is obviously doing everything he can to keep Zach present in his body and out of his own head—gripping the back of his knee hard enough to bruise, nibbling at his bottom lip, murmuring nonsense into his ear. And it must be working, because it’s not until Chris nuzzles along the side of Zach’s face and his lips slide wetly against the skin that Zach realizes he’s crying again.

“You’re okay, Zach,” Chris says, then kisses the corner of his mouth. “I’m here. I’m right here.” 

A sob tears its way out of Zach’s mouth. He wraps his arms around Chris’s neck and clings to him, dragging him in with his heels so he can feel him deeper, feel him everywhere. Chris works a hand between their bodies and lays it on Zach’s stomach for a moment, then slides it down and takes Zach in hand, gripping him tight and jacking him slow.

“God, Chris, don’t stop,” Zach says. His voice is hoarse and wet-sounding and pitiful, but he doesn’t care. “Please, _please_ ”

He has lost track of what he is begging for. All he knows is that he needs more, and he needs it to never end. The end is coming, though, whether he likes it or not. He can feel it in the electrical storm in his gut and the buzzing in his head. 

“Look at me, Zach.”

Zach doesn’t know when he shut his eyes, but he opens them now, and Chris is right there, almost nose to nose with him, his gaze dark and lust-clouded. Even though Zach can still feel the tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes, he has no desire to look away and hide them this time. He doesn’t think he could look away if he wanted to. The way Chris is looking at him stokes the fire in his belly, and soon he is arching against him, pushing himself desperately through Chris’s hand, and crying out as he comes, spilling over Chris’s fingers and his own stomach.

Chris silences him with a kiss, and Zach returns it with what little strength he has left, opening up to swallow Chris’s low moans as he pounds into Zach’s pliant body a few more times before stiffening and shuddering his way through his release. Zach squeezes his eyes shut so he can concentrate on the feeling of Chris pulsing inside him. For the past several days, he has felt like nothing more than a hollow shell, but for this fleeting moment, he feels full and alive, ready to burst out of his skin.

For long moments, they lay wrapped up in each other, gasping together, a tangle of sweaty limbs. Chris rests his damp forehead against Zach’s temple and breathes hotly against the side of his face. It should be uncomfortable, but it isn’t. Zach tightens his arms around his neck, pulling him as close as possible and intending to keep him there. Maybe if they never move, reality won’t be able to find him again.

As if reading his mind, Chris starts to peel himself away, making Zach whimper in protest.

“Mmm, hush, baby,” Chris says in his ear, voice rough as sandpaper. He kisses Zach’s brow and smooths his hair back. “We need to get cleaned up, okay? You’ll thank me in the morning.”

As soon as they step into the shower, Zach is glad he didn’t insist on staying in bed. The hot water feels perfect, and Chris stays close, his hands everywhere, chasing streams of water over his skin. Steam billows around them and every sound echoes softly off the tile, making things seem blurry and dreamlike, making it easy for Zach to continue to ignore all the things he wants to ignore. They don’t speak as they wash the paint and sweat from each other’s skin. Chris keeps stealing kisses, and Zach holds him close just a little bit longer each time, until they end up making out under the spray, licking water from each other’s lips until it starts to run cold.

Zach can’t tear his eyes away from Chris as they towel off. He stares at his calves, the small of his back, the hollow between his shoulder blades, all parts of him Zach has seen before but has never paid attention to before now. Chris catches him looking and shoot him an affectionate smile. He takes Zach’s towel from him to hang it up before herding him back to bed.

“We should go clean up the other room,” Zach protests, even as he lets Chris coax him back under the sheets.

“I’ll do it,” Chris says. He leans down to kiss Zach on the forehead. “It won’t take that long. You should get some rest.”

It’s the middle of the afternoon, so Zach shouldn’t _need_ rest, and yet his eyelids feel heavy. At the very edges of his mind, there is a growing realization that the contented, floaty feeling he has right now isn’t going to last forever. Maybe he can outrun it if he finds sleep fast enough.

Chris brushes a thumb across his cheekbone, kisses his mouth one more time, and then moves away to grab a pair of sweats out of Zach’s dresser. Zach watches him until he is dressed and standing in the doorway. He lingers there for a moment, looking uncertain, licking his lips nervously. Zach holds his breath.

Finally, Chris takes a deep breath and meets his eyes. “You have no idea how much I care about you, do you?”

The question catches Zach off guard. It pings around inside his skull like a bullet ricochet, too loud and too painful. He squeezes his eyes shut like that can make him unhear it, but it doesn’t work. Chris can’t mean what he thinks he means. He can’t.

When Zach opens his eyes again, the doorway is empty.

———— 

Zach falls asleep before Chris gets done cleaning up the nursery, and when he wakes up, it’s early morning and he is alone in bed. There is no dent in the pillow next to him to indicate that Chris slept next to him, and when he slides his hand along the sheets, the other side of the mattress is cold. 

It takes a lot of emotional effort to get up and pull on some clothes, but laying in bed and wondering how Chris is feeling isn’t going to do him any good. If Chris is going to be awkward and tiptoeing around him, he would rather find out now. After a deep, calming breath, he eases open the door and pads down the hall to the kitchen, following the smell of frying bacon.

All his worries about Chris panicking are immediately proven unfounded. As soon as he walks into the room, Chris turns around and smiles at him. He looks soft and sleep-rumpled, his hair a little messy and his glasses perched on his nose, not yet swapped for contacts. 

“Good morning,” he says, his voice thick with affection. When Zach doesn’t move, doesn’t acknowledge him, he comes over and puts two fingers under his chin, drawing him in for a sweet kiss like it's something they do every morning.

So Zach is the one that panics.

"When are you leaving?" he blurts as soon as Chris pulls away.

At first, Chris looks stunned, but then the shutters close behind his eyes. "You want me to go?"

"No!" Zach grips Chris's wrist in his haste to contradict him. "No, of course not. It's just...you've been here over a week. You have to go back to your life at some point, don't you?"

Chris’s question from yesterday is still stuck in his head. _You have no idea how much I care about you, do you?_ The truth is that he doesn’t—doesn’t understand how Chris could really care about him at all. He’s such a mess, too much mess for anyone. Certainly too much mess for Chris, who likes things uncomplicated. Such a complex mind with such simple tastes. 

“At some point, sure,” Chris says, taking extra care with each word. He pulls his arm out of Zach’s hand and takes a step back. “But I want to be sure you’re okay first.”

Zach makes a frustrated sound. “I’m as okay as I’m going to be for a while, Chris. This is not something I’m just going to get over in a couple weeks.”

“Yeah, but—”

“No,” Zach cuts him off. He is building momentum now, fear encouraging him to say things that he probably shouldn’t be saying. “No. Look. I’m up with the sun.” He gestures at the window, the sun just barely peeking above the skyline outside. “I’ve been eating. We painted the n-nursery.” He swallows hard. “The rest of it is just going to take time. And you can’t make time pass faster, so—”

“So you _do_ want me to go.” Chris backs away a little more, eyes darting toward the door like he’s thinking about making a break for it right now. 

“ _No_ ,” Zach insists. And he means it. “But you’re going to eventually, and I would rather you just...I’d rather you just do it. I don’t want to get used to having you here just so I can lose you too.”

“Zach…” Chris is raising his hands, palms up, and Zach can feel the puppy dog eyes coming before the fact. And he can’t deal with it. He shakes his head and takes two big steps back, widening the gulf between them.

“I can’t...Chris, I _can’t_.”

“You can’t what?”

But Zach can’t talk about this anymore. He can’t stand there and watch Chris look at him like a cherished thing that he’s on the verge of losing, because it’s _him_ who has something to lose here. Chris can go back to his home, to his normal life. He doesn’t need Zach. He never did.

He is halfway to the front door before he remembers moving. Chris is calling after him, but he ignores it, yanking a jacket of the hook by the door and wrenching open the front door. He lets it slam shut behind him, cutting off the sound of his name on Chris’s lips. 

He half-jogs down the hall to the elevator, expecting Chris to come after him. The blood is rushing in his ears as he jams the button three, four, five times, willing it to come faster so he can avoid an awkward confrontation in the hallway, where nosy neighbors can eavesdrop.

But the elevator dings, and there is no sign of Chris. The doors open, and still the hall remains empty. Zach steps inside, and the doors start to close, and he watches until there is nothing more to see.

Chris was never going to come after him.

————

It’s the first time Zach has been outside in over a week, and he regrets it the moment his feet hit the sidewalk. It’s a sunny late spring morning. There are people walking by in sunglasses and shorts, people riding their bikes down the street. It seems like everyone is smiling or laughing, oblivious to Zach, who is standing by the doorway of his building and clutching an unnecessary jacket in his hands.The sun on his skin feels wrong. He wants to turn around and go back inside, withdraw into the shadows like a vampire. But he can’t face Chris right now. He has no choice but to press on.

At first, he can’t think past the red haze of anger. It feels like Chris has betrayed him by coming here and taking care of him, then _sleeping_ with him, just so he could turn around and go back to LA and leave him alone with his pain again. He remembers the previous night and how it felt like he could trust Chris, like being with him would make him whole again. Instead, he feels even more broken than he did before.

The more he walks, though, the harder it is to blame Chris for all of it. After a couple turns around the block, Zach has burnt off his nervous energy, and the exhaustion that’s left over makes it hard for him to lie to himself. Last night wasn’t Chris’s fault. Zach threw himself at him, begged him for it, practically wouldn’t take no for an answer. And Chris—compassionate, self-effacing Chris—would probably have done anything Zach asked in the state he was in. He is too giving. He is too _good_. And now Zach has tainted him and their friendship with his neediness and stupidity.

How can he blame Chris for wanting to leave again? How could anyone want to stay with him? Maybe it’s best he isn’t going to be a father. He can’t even treat the one good relationship he has left in his life with the proper care. How did he think he could care for a child?

He barely makes it back inside the doorway of his building before the next breakdown nearly overtakes him. There is an alcove just inside the door, and he tucks himself into it, taking deep, gulping breaths with his hand over his eyes until he is sure that he isn’t going to dissolve into debilitating sobs again. It takes several minutes for him to get his breathing under control, and to be sure he isn’t going to burst into tears the moment he walks back into the apartment. Once he feels mildly calm, he heads for the elevator, his heart in his throat. 

Back inside the apartment, Chris is sitting on the couch, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. He looks like he has been sitting there the whole time, waiting for Zach to come back, hoping Zach _would_ come back. Zach feels like a heel. He steps tentatively into the room and waits for Chris to look up and acknowledge his presence, expecting to see anger on his face.

But when Chris does look up, he doesn’t look mad at all. He looks relieved, and a little hopeful. Zach’s guilt swells.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have run out that way. You’ve been here for me these past few days, and I shouldn’t have—”

“No,” Chris cuts in. “You were right.”

That’s not what Zach was expecting to hear. He shifts his weight, awkwardly fiddles with the hem of his jacket, waits for him to go on. Chris scrubs his palms across his jeans and refuses to look Zach in the eye.

“You were right. I shouldn’t have just showed up and...acted like I own the place. Like I have a right to be here. And I definitely shouldn’t have...last night was a...a mis—”

“God, please don’t say it was a mistake.” Zach digs the heels of his hands into his eyes for a moment, like that will help him scrub away his frustration. “Please don’t.”

“Okay, fine,” Chris says, although he’s clearly just saying what Zach wants to hear. “It wasn’t a mistake then, but it was—”

“I mean it, Chris,” Zach says urgently. He takes a few steps forward, then stop when it looks like Chris is going to flinch. “I was a mess, and you were there for me. That’s all. I should be the one apologizing, for making you feel like you had to...to…”

Chris sighs and reaches out, gripping Zach’s hand and dragging him down to sit next to him. 

“You didn’t make me do anything I didn’t want to do,” he says, holding Zach’s hand between both of his. “And that’s why I’m sorry.”

Zach isn’t sure how Chris expects him to interpret that. He grips his hand tighter reflexively. “I don’t understand.”

“Zach,” Chris says with a long-suffering sigh. “I’m not here out of some sense of duty, or because it’s the right thing to do. I’m not here because that’s what friends are for. I’m here because I can’t stand the thought of you hurting. Because I would do anything to make you happy. It kills me that I can’t fix this.”

“No one can fix this,” Zach says, frowning. “And I’m still not sure what...What do you mean, I didn’t make you do anything you didn’t want to do? You _wanted_ —”

“I wanted you,” Chris confirms before Zach can finish. “I still do.”

Zach takes his hand back slowly, in a daze. He doesn’t think he misheard, but the words don’t sound right when he repeats them back in his head. Chris doesn’t think about him that way. He is almost sure of it. “What?”

“I know! I know. I’m an asshole,” Chris says, getting to his feet and walking away, toward the window. When he turns back, he looks forlorn, unable to meet Zach’s eyes, his shoulders rounded like he’s trying to curl into himself and disappear. “I’m the worst kind of person. I took advantage of you. I thought I was helping, or I could pretend I was helping, but I just fucked everything up. And you _needed_ me. You need me. And I...I fucked up, Zach. I’m so sorry.”

“How…” Zach has a million questions flying around in his head, and he isn’t sure which one to ask first. “How long have you felt...this way?”

Chris drags a hand across his face. He is looking at the wall above Zach’s head. “A long time. Around the time you moved to New York. But it was never going to work. You were always with someone, and then you’d break up with them and come to me to pick up the pieces. And then Leonard. And then...now. I could never say anything, because you were always in a vulnerable place, and it hurt like hell, _hurts_ like hell seeing you like this, but that...it doesn’t give me the right to…”

Zach is stunned. None of what Chris is saying seems possible. He’s a little concerned that he has had some sort of psychotic break and is hallucinating all of this, that Chris isn’t really here after all. 

“You want me?” he asks, dumbfounded. “You want to be with me?”

Chris frowns at him. “Why do you sound so shocked? What did you think last night was?”

“Comfort,” Zach mutters. “You being a good friend.”

Chris’s eyes widen, and then he lets out a little mirthless chuckle. “Is that what friends do for friends in your world? Zach, come on. I wouldn’t have slept with you if I didn’t have feelings for you. I wouldn’t have taken that risk.”

“Chris, look at me,” Zach says, gesturing at himself in exasperation. “I’m a wreck. I’m a giant fucking train wreck, and I feel like I have been...just about every time we’ve been together over the past several years.”

“Which is why I never said anything!” Chris’s hands ball into fists at his sides. “I’m not asking anything of you. I know you’re not in a place right now to—”

“No, you don’t understand.” Zach gets to his feet, slowly, unsure whether he’s trying not to spook Chris or himself. “I don’t mean I’m a wreck now, come back in a few months and it’ll be okay. I mean this is me. This is permanently me. Everything around me falls apart.”

Chris makes a frustrated sound and clenches his jaw. “This wasn’t your fault, Zach. You didn’t do _anything_ to make the adoption fall through.”

“It doesn’t matter. There’s just...there’s something about me that pushes people away. I can’t hold onto anyone important.”

“I’m still here, aren’t I?”

The words hit Zach like a thunderclap. Chris is looking at him with the same expression from last night, when he was looking down at him in bed. It’s pure desire, but not the carnal kind. The _real_ kind, like Chris wants to get at the very heart of him and set up residence there. 

“I have seen the worst parts of you,” he continues, moving closer. “I’ve seen you at your lowest points, when you thought you were the most unloveable. If anyone was going to leave, it should be me. But I’m not going anywhere. I’m still here, Zach. I’m still standing right here.”

Chris spreads his arms out to the side, like he’s trying to fill up the room and make himself the only thing Zach can see. It’s a pointless endeavor. He has always been the brightest thing in any room. Zach couldn’t look away if he wanted to.

“Can you promise me I won’t lose you?” he asks. His vision starts to swim the moment he asks the question, because he’s already anticipating the answer. Of course Chris can’t promise him that. But Zach can’t promise himself that he’s not going to give in anyway.

For several moments, Chris looks like he is at a loss. He lowers his arms back to his sides and searches Zach’s face like it might hold the answer. Then, he moves forward, right into Zach’s space. Zach holds his breath.

“I can promise you that right now I can’t imagine my life without you. I can promise you that I will fight as hard as I can to keep you. If you’ll let me.”

To keep him. Zach takes stock, examines his heart, and finds that Chris is right. All of him, every part of him, belongs to Chris already. It must have happened when he wasn’t looking, in bits and pieces. Maybe if he put his mind to it, he could take all those pieces back. But why should he do that? All he has done is mistreat himself. And all Chris has done is treat him right. Maybe he is better in Chris’s hands.

He leans closer, until his lips are hovering just inches from Chris’s, and breathes him in. He watches as Chris’s eyes fall shut, his eyelashes fanning out across his skin.

“I’ll let you,” he whispers, his voice tremulous. “Or I’ll try, at least.”

“That’s all I can ask,” Chris says against his lips.

When they kiss, it tastes like home.

————

Zach is standing on Chris’s patio, a sweating beer bottle in his hand, looking out over the pool to the orchard beyond. The sun is starting to set behind the hills, and the sky is turning yellow and amber. It’s times like these that he misses LA—the mild evenings, the cool breezes carrying the faint smell of salt.

And then Chris comes up behind him a hooks his chin over his shoulder, wraps his arm around his waist. Zach misses that too. Luckily, he doesn’t have to miss it that much anymore.

“What’re you thinking about?” Chris asks, his breath tickling Zach’s neck.

“You,” Zach answers. He closes his eyes and revels in the solid presence of Chris next to him. It has been a couple months since they decided to give this thing between them a shot, but they have spent just a few days together here and there, so Zach is still trying to wrap his head around it. It still feels like a dream.

“What about me?” Chris says. He kisses Zach’s neck, the skin behind his ear. It makes Zach shiver.

“Just how much I love you,” he says, swiveling around so he can look Chris in the eye. “This still doesn’t feel real sometimes.”

“It’s real.” Chris leans in for a brief kiss. “And I love you too.”

Zach kisses him again, and he lets it linger this time. Chris tastes bitter, like beer and cigarettes, but it’s still perfect somehow. They get lost in each other’s mouths until the light goes pale behind Zach’s eyes, and he breaks away to bury his face in Chris’s neck. His skin tastes like the ocean. Zach samples with his tongue until Chris’s breathing is ragged.

The peace that comes over him is all-encompassing. He wraps his arms tight around Chris’s back, dangling the beer bottle from two fingers. He looks past him, into the house, and takes a deep breath.

“Do you think you could date a person who had a kid?”

“Hmm?” Chris hums vaguely. He is clearly too caught up in his head or too caught up in the moment to be paying attention. Zach leans back a little so he can look at him. When Chris’s eyes meet his, he repeats the question, waits a beat for it to sink in. 

“Are you serious?” Chris asks, his whole face lighting up. “You’re ready to try again?”

Zach nods. “I want a family. I want children. I don’t want to give in until I get it.”

The smile on Chris’s lips turns soft and affectionate. He lifts a hand to Zach’s face and rubs his thumb across his cheekbone. “You’re so brave.”

Zach leans in and rests their heads together and breathes out a sigh of contentment. “You make me brave.”

Chris strokes his fingertips down Zach’s back until they are both shivering from the chilly evening air. Then, he pulls him closer, takes the bottle out of his hand, and guides him toward the door.

“Wait,” Zach says, putting his hand out to stop Chris. “You never answered my question.”

“What question?” Chris asks with a frown. Zach just raises his eyebrows at him and waits until he gets it, until he chuckles and shakes his head. “Of course. I’d happily date a person who had a kid. Kids are the best.”

Zach has to purse his lips to keep from smiling so wide he makes a fool out of himself. “The best, huh?”

“Mmhmm,” Chris confirms. “I want at least ten myself.”

“Oh, is that right?” He grabs Chris’s waist and pulls him close again. “And what if that’s too many for me?”

“Then I’ll just have to persuade you.”

Their lips meet again, just a tease of a kiss this time, enough to make Zach long for a warm bed and Chris wrapped around him. It seems impossible that both of those things are within reach. But less impossible when Chris sneaks a hand up the back of his shirt and strokes the skin at the small of his back.

Zach doesn’t think he sees ten kids in his future, but he definitely sees a few. Kids and grandkids—a house full of laughter and love. And he sees Chris at his side, with his eye-crinkling smiles and his heart full of love, holding onto his hand through good times and bad.

Family was right in front of him all along. He just couldn’t see it until Chris opened his eyes.


End file.
